The Spirit of Dragons
by Ravenea
Summary: One Orc strives to find her place in a world domineered by death. With the aid of her faithful companion Verias, a netherwing drake, Deridovely must revisit her old haunts under new pretenses... and under a new allegiance.
1. Chapter 1

The cold winds blew even harsher across the snow plains of Dragonblight today. Removing my helmet, I stared out with emerald eyes to the battlefield below, the Alliance and Horde clashing with Scourge forces outside the Wrathgate. We had been fighting here for what seemed like forever and making no progress. I had watched many a hardened Kor'kron orc weep as he slaughtered his own comrades risen by the Lich King upon their deaths. What these orcs didn't know however, was that I was not like them; my green skin and orcish form was simply a clever guise. At my side, stood my ever faithful companion Verias, a viridian Netherdrake. It would not have been wise for me to be accompanied by one of my own, so fittingly, our allied Netherdrakes chose their wisest to carry me and advise me. It still struck me sometimes that he was a few centuries older than I.  
"How do you feel about your vision Deridovely?" His voice was deep and strong, yet quiet.  
"I can't say I'm afraid. I welcome death. The Lady will keep me in the dream," I replied, placing my helmet upon my head again. Yes, I was a green dragonflight representative. For two centuries I had watched over Azeroth with the Lady Ysera, ever since the Horde began. She wanted me to keep an eye on her children, but more recently, she wanted me to fight. This morning she had given me a vision; today I was to die. Verias' jaws widened into a toothy grin.  
"You were never one for fear," he rumbled. The crystals on his head and back shone in the morning sun and he shook the snow from his skin. "What would you have me do?"  
"Stay away today. There's no need for you to get caught up in this." The grin was gone. He didn't like the fact I was going into this without him; we'd already been through so much together. Maybe he thought he could change the course of time with his actions, protect me like he had through our conquests in the past.  
"We dragons are so few now. I can't bear to know another will die today," his voice began to quiver as he looked out to Wyrmrest, where the remaining blue dragons were still engaging in combat with the red dragonflight.  
"Worry not. Ysera will preserve me in the Emerald Dream. Green dragons never die," I smiled at him as comfortingly as I could, struggling still to not pierce myself with these damned tusks. A shiver ran up my spine as the warhorn sounded on the peak opposite ours. Glancing over it was obvious the Alliance were gathering another mounted assault; armoured warhorses stomped proudly at the ramp down to the ongoing battle. Another horn sounded, behind me this time, and I could see the brown skinned orc wielding it. Saurfang the Younger, I recognised, stood proudly beside the bonfire at the ramp, the reins of his direwolf in hand. As attuned to nature as I was, there was something unnatural about the orcish war mounts; their snarling jaws and sneering eyes just stank of the same corruption the orcs had. The Kor'kron gathered around their war master, axes in hand. Some jostled and jeered in the pack as the cluster formed, excited and bloodthirsty. Verias had already flown off as I joined in behind; one of very few female orcs here.  
"Today marks what we believe to be the final push on the Wrathgate brothers!" yelled the Draenor orc, his eyes bright. "Today we will break down the walls of the Lich King's citadel and take a vital foothold in the battle against the Scourge! Mount up, arm yourselves, and fight well. When the next horn sounds, you will follow me into the field. For the Horde!" Axes were raised, cheers echoed around the snowy cliffs, and the sound of many plated boots charging to various stations in the base drowned out any further words. Despite knowing my place, I couldn't help but swell with pride along with the rest of them. My hands clasped around my two enchanted green axes, Tooth and Nail. I'd received them from an armorer in Outland a long time ago, as I made the long journey from the Dark Portal to Shadowmoon Valley to converse with the Netherwing. In return for aiding him he had forged the twin blades and enchanted them with purple magics I had yet to identify; in fact, Verias had said it smelled of demons. Before I knew it, the orcs has congregated again by the ramp, ready for war. I shuffled uneasily to the back, where the footsoldiers stood behind the towering wolves. Howls rang out with the blasts of two warhorns; as Saurfang led us into battle, Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, unmistakable from his shining plate armour, led the Alliance the same way.  
"Ignore the Alliance brothers, save your axes for the Scourge!" You could audibly hear complaints from some of the more vengeful orcs, but none of them would disobey an order. Before we had even left the path, a huge hook swept one of the Kor'kron straight off his mount by the neck. His body flew across the sky and into the grasp of an abomination. At least ten, maybe twenty foot tall, the undead horror slung his hook again at our ranks, decapitating his previous victim in the process. Soaked in blood, the soldiers in front let out battlecries as they raced ahead and into the fray. Many of them charged to avenge their fallen brother. From behind, ghouls and geists began to turn their attention to the living. As if on springs, the beasts leapt onto the footsoldiers, howling and screeching. Unsheathing my axes I had to spin round to slice through a geist that had aimed from me. Its muffled cries of anguish could still be heard as it crashed into the rocks. Towards the centre of the field, where we were headed up the steps, the Alliance were engaging gargoyles and liches. Light bounced off of a golden plated paladin as he was carried off in the claws of a gargoyle, screaming and flailing his sword. The archers seemed loathe to shoot it down, fearing he would drop to his death all the same.  
"Look out!" I turned to where the call had come from as another geist beset upon me, its claws splayed. It grabbed me by my horned helmet, pushing me to the ground as more of its fiendish kind joined in, pulling and scratching at my armour to expose flesh. One of them we blasted off me by a spear, the others turned to look. Using that opening, I roared, bashing the one on my chest with the dull end of my weapon, sending him hurtling into his brothers. Scratches marred my glorious green plate, a gift from Ysera herself, forged in dragonfire. With another shout, I charged into the pile of geists, hacking limbs and heads in every possible direction. The hefty screech of metal caught the attention of us all, as the maw of the Wrathgate yawned open to release a small army of frozen Vrykul onto the plain. Saurfang led the charge with his heavy axe in hand, rending three of the giants asunder in one glorious swing. Seeking challenge and succumbing to a bloodlust like I'd never felt before, I raced up the steps, freeing allies left and right from their personal battles and amassing a small group of Alliance and Horde alike. We pounced onto the Vrykul with our own battlecries.  
"For the Alliance!"  
"For the Horde!"  
"For the Green Dragonflight!" I realised in an instant what I had said, but amidst the battle no one seemed to care. I leapt onto the chest of a giant as a Kor'kron swept his legs from under him, digging Nail into his neck as he gurgled and spat blood at me. I watched the same orc spin his blade like a weaponized tornado, hacking at the legs of as many Vrykul as possible. One managed to catch him mid swing and plow him with his axe, a weapon that must have been twice the size of the orc at least. As I made killing blows to some of the injured, I admired the martial prowess of some of these warriors. A female human, as graceful as a cat, danced around her chosen target, wounding as many critical spots as possible, wearing out the combatant before hacking the back of his knee so he knelt. With one fell swoop, she stepped onto his back and cut straight through his neck. No sooner than the head was rolling, she was tangoing with another enemy. Another paladin burned with holy light as he charged through the horde of massive men, swinging with what seemed like a thousand gleaming weapons. Gracious, golden wings shone on his back and light radiated to those around him, miraculously sealing wounds. As the last of the frozen giants fell to our feet, the two faction war leaders stood side by side at the top of the steps. Bloodied, injured, but alive, the remaining soldiers gathered behind them to watch what would unfold. Whispers were exchanged in both camps' native tongues, glances shot, but no weapons were thrust. An eerie silence fell over the battlefield as Bolvar raised his head.  
"Arthas!" he roared, in a trained voice as powerful as a dragon's. "The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice! Come forth, coward, and answer for your crimes!" Once more, the spiked teeth of the Wrathgate screamed open with the sound of steel against steel. No other sounds could be heard now but the wind, which breezed through our ranks. Some shivered, but whether it was wind or fear, none could say. Saurfang readied himself, stepping forth with his axe in his hands; some mirrored his stance, expecting a fight. Bolvar seemed as stalwart as the Wrathgate itself, his mettle proving more than the orc's. From a haze of frost, the Lich King stepped out into the snow.  
"You speak of justice? Of cowardice? I will show you the justice of the grave and the true meaning of fear," the cold, disembodied voice of the Lich King growled, pointing Frostmourne towards us.  
"Enough talk!" bellowed Saurfang, leaning back his head to the sky. "Let it be finished!" With a blood curdling howl, Saurfang the Younger stormed towards Arthas. He swung at the Lich King with a powerful leap, and it looked as if the orc would be the first to strike our enemy; and so easily! With a single swipe of Frostmourne, the bloodthirsty orc's corpse fell aside onto the hard stone. Every single soldier of the Horde audibly gasped in terror. Like a gnat, our leader had been felled by the slightest movement of the former paladin's weapon. And now, that hungering blade was supping on his soul. The point almost piercing his chest, Frostmourne visibly pulled the remaining life essence from the brown skinned orc. Bolvar, clearly helpless during this quick exchange with his hand outstretched, retracted himself as he began to shake in his boots. The sword flashed blue suddenly, sated with the warrior's soul.  
"You will pay for all the lives you've stolen, traitor," the paladin murmured, the rage uncontainable in his voice. At that point I could have sworn that Arthas was _smiling. _His unholy voice began to speak, but another intercepted him. All heads turned to the right.  
"Do you think we had forgotten?" An undead, male by his hunched stance, had crept onto the precipice. He wore a mask of bone, formed into some kind of beak. Behind him, catapults containing some vile green bombs trundled up to the edge. "Do you think we had forgiven?" I reached for Tooth and Nail, as if that would save me from this new threat. Everyone stood frozen in place, listening, afraid.  
"Behold, now, the terrible vengeance of the Forsaken!" crowed the beaked man, raising his bony hands as the catapults fired their loads into the awaiting armies. "Death to the Scourge, and death to the living!" The bombs did not explode, as expected, but fell around us and smashed, breathing some choking gas into the atmosphere. Maniacal, undead laughter filled the air. Orcs and humans alike suffered from the fumes. I could feel it creeping into my lungs, as hard as I tried not to breathe, it found a way in on its own. Even Bolvar and the Lich King, two who seemed near untouchable, had fallen to their knees. Before he succumbed to the same fate as some mediocre warriors, Arthas turned tail to the Wrathgate and slipped into his citadel once more.  
"This… is not… over," he hissed. I glanced around, trying to find a way out, the poison taking a hold like intangible fingers around my neck. _It ends, _I thought to myself, staring out to where Verias had flown into the distance. In my final moments, I thought I saw him come back to me, his shadow amongst others that blocked out the sun. _Dragons?_


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke up, there was no light. I expected to find myself in the Lady's warm embrace, in the calm glow of the Emerald Dream. But I was greeted by cold; a frost much deeper than the frozen wastes. Around me, I saw the confused, lost souls of those who had fought beside me staring, like I was, at the halls around us. Occasionally, their gaze fell to me, and again they would stare. We seemed stuck in some kind of limbo; a massive cavern filled with ice, the howls of tortured souls ringing out from two gigantic structures in the centre of an abyssal ravine. I felt the call then.  
"Well hello child," the voice was that of a soft, effeminate man. I turned my head in various directions, searching for a source. This seemed to amuse him; he was laughing at me. "No, no child, you cannot see me. At least, not yet." A hulking armoured skeleton nudged past me, grunting. The voice had gone mute for the time being, it seemed pensive. "I do believe the last dragon soul that ran amuck in these halls was Sindragosa." _Dragon soul?_ I searched the room for Verias, afraid that what I had seen meant that he had died as well. There was no sign of the netherdrake anywhere. Then it hit me. Of course. I sat back on my haunches, now aware of why the others had gawked. For so long I had been an orc, in body but not in soul. This felt foreign. Another voice echoed in my head; female this time, with a sultry tone.  
"She doesn't know she's a dragon!" it mocked, laughing along with the voice I had heard before.  
"A green dragon nonetheless," came a third, somewhat studious sounding voice. "How quaint." This one did not laugh with the others. "Come dragon, I wish to see you for myself." As if guided by a rope I walked, slowly, grudgingly, up the path of the hall. Red souls that looked like skulls whizzed around overhead, cackling and heckling those around me. Various reanimated warlocks lined the edge of the cliffs, guarded by chains. The only breaks in this long trail were long steel ramps that led into the structures I had admired before. As if reading my thoughts, the first voice cooed in my ear again.  
"This place is the Forge of Souls, dragon. This is where the Lich King sorts between the souls of the strong and the weak. I wonder what he'll have Bronjahm do to you."  
"This one is not for the Grinders," harked the scholarly voice. "I do believe the Lich King will want to meet this one _personally._" The train of souls I had been following stopped suddenly on the ramp. Up ahead, one of the Kor'kron had grown tired of the trek and had engaged one of the warlocks inside the massive construct. His once light blue soul was burning red as he grabbed the gnome by the throat. It wasn't long before more arrived to subdue him; these faceless warlocks had skulls for heads and were draped in blue magister garb. As they dragged the fighting orc away, the group continued its walk. I could still feel eyes upon me, as those I had fought with so shortly ago saw me truly for the first time. One human even climbed upon my back, only to be removed by one of the boneguards as we passed under them.  
"You never told them who you were, did you dragon?" The interior of the engines was golden with fire that sparked and danced around the roof. Some of the more primitive of the orcs ducked in fear. I spread my wings for them to hide under, unsure if the fire could even harm us, but it seemed to calm them all the same.  
"Thank you," snarled one of the orcs under me. His wounds in life were displayed across his soul in death. Ghoul scratches mauled one side of his face, acidic spit rendering his left eye nothing but gloop. His armour was cracked on both sides, a hole through his entire body; a Vrykul spear perhaps. "I don't remember any dragons on the battlefield at the Wrathgate," he mused, looking me up and down.  
"That would be because there were none," I replied. For the first time in a long while, I heard myself speak with a dragon's tongue. It was something I had forgotten more than how to walk on four legs. "I was an orc, just like you." The battle-scarred orc smiled, at least, I think he did; the broken side of his face made it difficult to tell.  
"But female, by the sounds of it. Your voice is like a spring breeze, dragon." He looked onward, his good eye squinting. "Do you know where they're taking us?"  
"Something called the Soul Grinders? Some subservient of Arthas will see to us." The orc half nodded, snorting. The fire above the next engine roared violently, the screams of a human in pain filling the cavern.  
"It seems they are as gruesome as the name makes them sound," the orc murmured, a hint of fear in his voice. He did not show it much, but even in this ethereal form, pain seemed to be a cause of concern for him. The line halted once more, as we were slowly taken one by one to meet with Bronjahm and our subsequent fates. As we stood on the long, swaying bridgework, I could better see the operations of this dire place. The only thing keeping our souls bound to this room, it seemed, was the work of the risen warlocks, whose pale lips were continually chanting words of power I did not know. They stood, huddled in groups, blue and purple magics sparking off their fingertips and spiralling into the air, creating and binding a foggy haze at the very height of the cave. It wasn't long until we had reached the front of the queue.  
"Don't worry about your little friend dragon. I'll see to it that Bronjahm takes good care of him for you," mocked the voice from before. It lulled and laughed as the orc was allowed past by the skeletons standing by the doorway. I raised my head over their polearms to see what lay in store for me. A dark skinned human stood in the middle of the engine, his vivid, pupil-less blue eyes gleaming in the murk of souls that danced around him. He wore red and blue robes that skirted the floor, his shoulders embellished by two pauldrons of snake heads. All three sets of eyes seemed to look the weary orc up and down, and the souls began to whisper to one another.  
"He is strong."  
"He fights with prowess."  
"Not very smart." The orc seemed to overhear and smirked at the comment.  
"He would make a wonderful soldier for the Lich King," came Bronjahm's judgement, his voice a mixture of baritone and unholy power. The whispers stopped. "Send him to the Devourer and bring the next one to me." The skeletons opened their weapons again, allowing me to step into the room for myself. This powerful warlock, for all his worth, came up to my shoulder and nothing more. He raised a calloused hand to my face, and instinctively I wrinkled my snout into a sneer and whipped my tail. Undeterred Bronjahm continued, resting a strong palm on the tip of my nose; it was surprising he could even touch me.  
"The Devourer has told me all about you dragon. Their whispers say you died at the Wrathgate with the rest of these poor fools. How sad your mistresses have forsaken you to walk with the damned in my hallowed halls," he said softly, his thumb stroking between my nostrils. There was no benevolence in his voice; his words were as empty as the depths of this cavern.  
"You speak as if you know my Lady," I growled back, refusing to give in to his manipulation.  
"I know not of Ysera, young one. The Dreamer is a mystery to us all. What I do know is that the Life-Binder sent her wardens to cleanse the field. Even now, she sits outside of the steel gates. And yet here you are. She chose to save only one of you."  
Alexstrazsa, the Life-Binder or Dragonqueen to some of us, was the Aspect of the Red Dragonflight. The head of all five aspects – the red, green, blue, black and bronze – she was the major decision maker at Wyrmrest. Is that what I had seen before? Did she really send her children to selectively rescue a single soul?  
"I believe you know the man in question," Bronjahm continued as my expression of hatred began to waver to one of uncertainty. "Bolvar Fordragon has be resurrected by red dragon fire. Luckily for us however, we recovered his flaming corpse before the dragons even dared to land."  
"And what of Dranosh? What of Saurfang?" My thoughts fell to my own war leader; was his corpse naught but ash? Was mine?  
"Safe as well. Dead, but preserved. You can visit him if you like. I hear the Devourer is planning to send you to the Lich King himself." Bronjahm's eyes flashed menacingly.  
"Send me to this 'Devourer', I must speak with him and have him tell me what he knows," the words fell out of my mouth with no way of pushing them back in. A shiver ran up me as I realised the consequences of my request. A grin spread across the warlock's face.  
"Across that bridge, and into the portal room you will find who you seek. It has been… interesting… speaking to you dragon." He paced toward the exit, hands clasped behind his back. I followed, steeling my resolve once more for the unexpected. "Let her through. If you imbeciles even touch her I will send you into the Grinders." The pair of skeletons looked from their master to me and let me past. They skulked along behind me hesitantly, as if completely sentient. From here on the walk was barren; no chanting, no warlocks, no cackling souls that flew… just the call of the voices.  
"Ah, she comes to us now," the scholar announced, the most excitement I had heard from him since my arrival. This time, however, the voices were tangible; they rang over the ice and echoed in the darkness.  
"I do love company," the woman hummed delightedly, "you two get rather dull after a century." As the bridge ended and opened up onto rock, the skeletons scarpered off. Their boots rattled as they returned to their post, leaving me to face what I had only ever heard referred to as the Devourer. The only other room adjoining the engine hall was a smaller, enclosed cave. At the back, hidden away, was an inactive portal; a round, spiked frame crusted with frost upon a small stage made of the same steel. The entire room was decorated with red and black fangs of metal, joined up near the roof like semi-closed jaws. From long chains, two chandeliers hung in the centre of this abode; fiery sheep skulls pierced onto a circular base provided a small amount of red glow where required. Two braziers of a similar style lay at the foot of the stage. The most striking thing, however, was not the glory of this place, but the monster who resided there. In the middle of the room floated what looked like a massive face made of stone. Bright green eyes glared from a stern, scowling face that did not change expression as I approached.  
"You're smaller than I expected," said the violent looking face; I recognised the voice from before as the scholarly one.  
"I want to see her, it's not fair if you get to have all the fun!" the second male voice cried; the one who had greeted me when I first arrived was another face on this entity.  
"Quiet you! I'm not finished examining her yet!" the forward facing one snapped. He was right; I was a small dragon for my age, only coming up to this creature's lips. "My apologies for my cohorts, they are rather… impatient. You'd think they would learn."  
"It's no trouble for me, I just wish to know what you know," I answered as confidently as I could, trying not to be intimidated by the stony maw before me.  
"You'd be twice your years if I told you all I knew," the Devourer murmured. "But I take it you want to know why you're here."  
"That's right."  
"Then there's only one man who can answer you, I'm afraid. He is interested in speaking to you personally on this matter," the female voice spoke this time. "I'd appreciate if you left sooner rather than later dragon; even your soul reeks like brimstone." There was a buzzing of magical energy in the air, and a bursting light from behind the Devourer.  
"Come back sometime, won't you?" the gentler male whimpered. "That is, if the Lich King is good to you."  
"The Lich King is always good," the scowling face growled. I walked around the floating heads as they bickered, going up the steps on the left of the stage. Passing by I saw what was clearly the head of the quiet man, his face screwed up in pain or anguish. I wondered to myself if the female voice was as pretty as she sounded before stepping into the portal that had been opened for me.


	3. Chapter 3

p class="MsoNormal"A blinding light obscured my vision when I exited the portal. When I came to the howling winds of Northrend were blowing once more. I stood upon a platform in the heavens, and for a moment believed myself free. br / "Ahh," a breathy sigh reverberated off the helm of the Lich King. "You've finally arrived, dragon." Perched upon the shattered Frozen Throne, the fully plated and seemingly recovered Jailor of the Damned stared out at me with nothing but fearsome blue eyes. His gauntleted hand rested on Frostmourne's hilt, the tip of the blade standing vigilant in the ice. With a clatter of frosted armour, Arthas stood and beckoned me forth with his free hand. As I approached the steps of the throne, I heard another deathly sound. Raising my head, I immediately found its source. Attached to two ginormous pillars of ice, bound by chains of spiked steel, was the flame-ridden body of Bolvar Fordragon. He moaned again, low in the back of his throat, a desperate, haunting plea. Where armour had protected him before there was nothing. His light skin was now blackened and charred, the inner mechanisms of him now glowing with dragon-fire. Whether he was falling apart from the fire inside of him or from the torture he was enduring was unknown, but his undead corpse was torn across the chest, legs and shoulders nonetheless. When he opened his eyes to see to whom Arthas was speaking, he locked gazes with me with orbs of pure flame. The sight of him in its entirety was unsettling at / "Pay no heed to him," Arthas hissed, spinning around and jutting Frostmourne to the paladin's throat. "He is nothing to you." He tipped Bolvar's head back a little with the dull end of the blade. Bolvar sneered in response, still fighting the Lich King in his weakened state. With a whirl of his cape, Arthas began to tread down the stairs of the throne until he stood before me. Empowered by necromancer magic unlike any I had ever seen, Arthas was a monstrous height for a human. Most humanoids, even the tallest races, barely reached the shoulder of a dragon, but Arthas stood at a height that made it almost possible for him to look me in the eyes. br / "I have a great use of you in my ranks, dragon," he started, admiring me at this close distance. "You, along with the other wyrms I have raised over the years, would make a stellar army against the living. You would be reborn into an immortal form not unlike the one you were born into. I will return to you your powers of transformation and give you many more if you swear fealty to my cause. You, sweet Deridovely, would become a death knight like no other. What say you?" A shiver ran up my spine as he said my name. I let the silence talk for me, hesitant to even consider the offer. From below the platform, I heard the calls of my own, twisted by the Lich King's will. From the fog came the beating of giant wings. Huge talons gripped onto the edge, dragging up a leviathan of pure bone. From its jaws breathed an azure fog, so thick was it that even Bolvar choked on it from his vantage. The frost wyrm grasped to the platform, obviously unable to land on it for fear of disintegrating it under its weight. The split second before it spoke to me, I had something in the back of my mind that recognised the dragon before me. emSindragosa./em There had been rumours of her recent resurrection; the wild mistress of Malygos had found another, equally insane counterpart it seemed. br / "A child of Ysera," she murmured, her whispers swirling around me like mist. "Whatever would you be doing with a dragon of the Emerald Dream, Arthas?" The great dragon turned her bony face to her master, her sinews replaced with cerulean necromancy that kept her together. br / "This one came to us," the Lich King replied. "And the Undead of Lordaeron provided me with the means to take her for myself." The teeth of that skull cracked open into a massive grin as she laughed. So maniacal was her fit that even Arthas seemed taken aback. br / "And yet the Life-binder saves the human. A piteous paladin!" she cackled, her beady eyes darting to me. "I always knew Alexstrasza was more for these wretched creatures than her own! She sent her brood to murder my mate in the humans' defence! What emdragon,/em" she strained the word, "chooses tiny bipeds over her own?" Slowly she turned her head to me, as if expecting me to answer her. I couldn't. "I may have sided with Arthas," she continued now, beginning to defend herself, "but he has given me a second chance, and a second flight to lord over. I am again a mother, and my children shall be immortal, young one. I would take care of you, because I feel quite sorry that your mother has abandoned you." A massive claw came towards me, and frozen in fear I allowed this crazed monstrosity to stroke me with it. Almost seductively, she breathed, "what have you got to lose?"br / emMy honour and integrity, /emI thought, coming to my senses for a moment, drinking in the situation with a clear head. But I could not deny she had a point; unlike any of my green dragon counterparts, I had been left to suffer the horrors of the Lich King's spiritual domain. The Dream was not to be my eternal resting place; had Ysera truly forsaken me? The Life-binder herself had even forgotten me. emVerias/em had left me. After all the effort I'd made in their stead, why would they leave me here to rot? It was then I felt the same twinge I had felt awakening in the Forge of Souls – Frostmourne sparked hungrily with purple energy. Arthas raised the weapon to me. br / "Should you choose to decline, I could just as easily do to you as I did to Sylvanas." The Banshee Queen had been risen by the Lich King upon his desecration of Quel'Thalas, the elven stronghold. A very capable warrior, Sylvanas had regained at least some of her humanity from Arthas and escaped to rule the undead of Lordaeron… the very same who were responsible for my death, and countless others, in the first place. It felt like I had no choice; willingly or not I was to be used by a soulless murderer for his own gain. I only hoped that my decision would at least allow me to keep some of my sentience. br / "You've convinced me, Menethil," I lied, as convincingly as my sneering jaws would allow. "In return for what you have offered me I shall join your cause." Frostmourne was lowered from my face and I felt like I could breathe again, even despite being a spirit. Sindragosa smiled again, this time a more twisted grin of accomplishment. Her bony wings spread once more as she pushed off the ledge with a screech, diving into the hordes of dragons below who chorused with her. br / "Don't think I will trust you so explicitly from now on dragon. You have not yet lost your mind, like Sindragosa has," Arthas murmured. He raised his free hand again, beckoning a flurry of bones from the ground far below the platform. I watched with great awe as the necromancy was set to work, a new body being built from scratch. From horn to tail the bony drake was almost identical to my form in life, minus the skin of course. With a landscape wave of his hand Arthas puppeteered the skeleton, filling it with animation as it roared and spread its wings. br / "This is the weapon I promised you," he muttered. "Use it well… and wisely." Like a vortex, I felt my very essence being absorbed by my new host. Darkness enveloped me as my soul settled in this new form. When I awoke I felt heavy and weighted again. I could barely stand, my legs faltering under me as if I was a new born calf. Digging new claws, as black as pitch, into the ice for the first time to steady myself, I remembered what it was like to be a dragon. Through these eyes, the world was tinted blue, and without skin I could not feel the elements. As I regained my posture and tested out my limbs, unrestricted by ligaments, vessels and muscles, I felt the power fill me. Never had I once felt so unstoppable, so unkillable… so numb. I had a life back; numbness was a small price to pay. But power was not the only feeling rising in / "I crave… flesh," I observed, turning to Arthas once more. "Human flesh. Is this your method of control on me?"br / "On all of my frost wyrms, they do my bidding out of hunger. You are no different." You could almost hear the grin behind his feature-darkening helm. "I could show you how to sate that hunger. RISE!" The sky darkened at his beckoning, a thunderous applaud of wings filling the air. Once more, Sindragosa brought her brood from the depths, and wyrms of all shapes and sizes soared above the platform. My wings instinctively drove me into the pack, the broodmother crowing her delight with a draconian roar of unnatural proportions. Her children welcomed me with mirrored calls, jostling me almost playfully with bumps and scratches. The Lich King swept his hand back and forth, as if dusting off a great table, and as he did so the clouds and mist below parted to reveal Icecrown from where I could only assume was the very peak of the Citadel. The Citadel's grounds stretched farther than I could have imagined; forges of reanimation filling the gaps between huge walkways that stretched into the distance. Each walkway was guarded by various abominations, from plague hounds to colossal bone giants to liches conducting chanting choirs. The ice past that was swarming with undead, and in the very centre of Icecrown, Alliance and Horde were again waging war together against the Scourge. With my new eyes, I could see all this and more. The screeches and howls stopped as Arthas plunged Frostmourne into the glassy frost and raised his hands to the / "FLY! Lay waste to the living!" And with their orders given, a storm of dragons descended on the battlefields below, and I along with them./p 


	4. Chapter 4

p class="MsoNormal"The air whistled through my fleshless body as the torrent of dragons sped towards the ongoing battle. Sindragosa flew overhead, leading her undead flight to their next meal. Her laughs echoed around the Citadel's sprawling arms, and under us I could see the dread on the weakened warriors' faces. Certain death was hurtling towards them, and all they could do is what they had been doing for so long already – fight. Eager, far more so than I, the rest of the dragons separated onto singular targets, each ensuring they had a prize to feast on once they'd made the kill. I instead landed directly into the snow to observe. Claws, teeth and swords flew left and right as the hungering dead went in for the final blow. Almost every human, orc and elf on the field was occupied with a dragon, and many fell to ice-laden breaths or heavy flesh wounds. I whipped around when I heard a whimpering behind me; a small female gnome had dug into the snow where I had landed. She now fearfully cowered at the back of the concave, clutching nothing but a tiny wrench in her hands. Tears streamed down her face from under goggles that were too big for her face. br / "emSlay them all,/em" came the voice of the Lich King in my head. "emGive in to your hunger./em" Despite a lack of internal organs, I could feel a familiar sensation from my ribcage. The blue-black magic stirring inside of me hissed and spat just asking to be sated. Seeing this, the little gnome cried out in Common, huddling deeper against the wall of her prison. I could feel my jaws pry open, as if Arthas was manually forcing me into action. The energy swirled and grew in the back of my throat as the gnome screamed in terror. emI'm so sorry little one. /emA thin beam of white light shot forward, piercing the engineer through the throat. She gasped as it hit her, the blood spraying like a fountain, staining the pristine ground red. The scent filled me with ghoulish glee, the warmth of her life essence on my face rousing a starving growl from between my teeth. Like a panther I stalked slowly towards her, watching the colour drain from her features, the tears crystallising as blood pooled in her severed neck. What sentience I had had before the kill was gone, and now the primal urges overtook me. With savage movements I was rending the skin from her body, satisfying the call for blood from within. Every mouthful fed the energies in my gut; they tore the meal apart like a pack of hounds and it was not long until every morsel was gone and it cried for more. Raising a bloodied muzzle to the sky, I called out to my undead compatriots, most of whom roared back in reply. The broodmother circled like a vulture, spraying the landscape with icy breaths. In the song of dragons, I came to my senses as the hunger began to die down. There was nothing living left; the flight feasted across the entire battlefield. I couldn't bring myself to turn back to the destruction I had brought on myself, instead lending a silent wish to the Life-binder to preserve her. Scraping snow back with my hind legs, I best covered her remains from the others, but I knew a simple covering would not stop her from being resurrected into the Lich King's mindless army. As I took to the sky again to join Sindragosa, I watched the others, lost in their madness, fighting over scraps below. A pair of younger-bodied (their ages were undistinguishable by bone alone, but their small, low horns gave best judgement) drakes fought over the long femur of an orc. Others waged full-on fights over half-eaten remains. br / "The thrill of battle," the former blue dragon sighed, noticing me following her from the corner of her eye. "Does it just not fill you with joy?" embr / If it truly were a battle, /emI thought, the screams of the engineer ringing in my skull. Sindragosa studied my expression with great disdain. br / "The Lich King will be pleased with what we have accomplished here today, Deridovely." She read the emotions right, but the reason incorrectly. br / "I have an eternity to prove myself," I retorted, a statement that was neither true nor false. emBut not to a bastard like Arthas. /emThe broodmother nodded in / "Come, let us return to the Citadel and rest. There is plenty more to be done," she murmured softly, a tone not unlike Ysera's had been. The skies boomed with her roar, and immediately the dragons below took wing, and hollow bodies filled the air once more. The flight back was slow and calm, with dragons playing and tumbling about in the sky like family. I had allowed myself to fall back and watch the landscape, unsure what chances I'd get to see it again. In the not too distant hills, stood the Nerubian temples – four of them to be precise – hoatching with undead and huge spider-like creatures that skittered around caldrons and spires covered in corpses. To the far left of my vision lay the Argent Tournament, the gleaming light of the gathering of Azeroth's greatest heroes shining bright over the mountains that kept it safe. In front of that however, was a far more interesting scenario. Two airships cruised in the sky, one Alliance and one Horde, following similar circular routes. On the ground, the forces had been allies, even if it were a strained relationship. In the air, the airships threw out warning shots at each other from powerful deck cannons. The losses on the field would only lead to more taught relations between the factions, I mused, turning back as the Citadel was just coming into view. The Lich King was not there to greet us. Instead, Sindragosa herded us onto a lower platform on the outside of the structure, where a yawning gate awaited us. One by one, sometimes not as orderly, dragons poured into the building, groups being led off left and right into various holding rooms. The last of us were taken down a staircase into the centre of the interior Citadel, where Val'kyr – the angels of undeath and masters of resurrection – flew seamlessly through the huge hole in the middle of the building, through archways and portals. We passed many of them, as well as a guardian Val'kyr who was as tall as an elder dragon, on our way to our hold. Her long, snow-white hair fluttered in a non-existent breeze, all the time remaining flawlessly straight. Her steel mask covered the upper part of her face, but you could tell by her grimace that she was not fond of us draconian types, friend nor foe. The lich who guided my group stepped aside in the huge doorway to let us in to another of the Citadel's gargantuan rooms. Four gates stood open, two to each side of the dorm, supposedly with enough space to accommodate two dragons each; not that I planned on sleeping in this hollow form. The most perplexing thing was the spectral green dragon who lay, motionless except for the movement of her nostrils as she breathed, in the very centre of the room. The others seemed to ignore her, choosing their sleeping quarters rather simply and settling down on the metal floor. Anything humanoid vacated the space, leaving only us dragons to do as we pleased here. Shifting for the first time into my Orcish form again, I slowly approached the captive green dragon. It felt good to have skin again, and although I was naked from head to toe except for hair, the body was just as I remembered. I grinned in comfort. The grin, however, must have seemed malicious to my living brethren. br / "Foul frost wyrm, you have lost your way. Leave me to my slumber," she rumbled, baring her teeth. She saw me through closed lids, and it was then I realised that she was not asleep, but simply communing with the Dream. Green dragons did not see with their eyes. br / "I was like you once," I found myself saying once again, "and I still am. I am not like the others." The huge nostrils took a deep breath, testing my scent. br / "You do not smell of the Dream or of my Lady. You smell of undeath. You are not blessed with emerald scales; only bone." She was / "What is your name? I can help you."br / "Valithria Dreamwalker is my full title to you, fiendish one. Your cruel master wishes me for his crude experiments, using my magic to bring life to more of your kin. They are no longer mine." Her barrel chest heaved as she raised her head to yawn. "I am not long for this mortal realm."br / "I can help you," I said again, putting a hand against the barely tangible horn on her snout. It was easily the height of my bipedal form. br / "How could a minion of the Scourge help me," she hissed, voice low so only I could hear, "when all they've done is sap the life from me? Do you know how long I've been clinging on here? Do you?" She flicked her snout, sending me spiralling into the air, landing on the bridge of her nose. "Your kind know nothing of pain. Of the terror they have caused. Mindless wretches, all of you. Why do you speak to me when I do not believe your lies?"br / "Because in the name of the Lady I would not lie," I whispered, leaning forward as the creases of skin folded below me into another sneer. A violent growl reverberated in the dragon's mouth. br / "Do not use my Lady's name in vain. If she were your Lady, as you say, you would prove to me to be of her blood. What is- was- your name cretin?" she scowled. br / "Deridovely. I fought in the name of Orgrimmar at the Wrathgate," I murmured softly. "Fought and died there." The great dragon's features softened a little, her snout straightening out and brow ridges / "The Lady whispers of you. She saw your soul in the Nightmare but it was merely a vision. Deridovely of Orgrimmar, how can you prove to me that I can trust you fully?" I held out my hands, palms upward, drawing as much energy as I could into them. For so many people before had I done this trick, but now I struggled, my body no longer so full of life-giving power. br / "He said he would return my powers," I mumbled, watching the tiny green speck forming in the crux of my hands. "It would seem he did not fully keep his promise." The spec grew slowly, so slowly that the exertion forced the sweat onto my cold skin. In time, it formed a perfect rhomboid of faintly glowing green light – a life crystal. I looked around; the other undead slept soundly in their corners, blissfully unaware of the power I was about to bestow to my former kin. Her lids peeled back slowly, revealing the most piercing forest-green eyes I had ever seen. They glimmered with hope and promise at the sight of the crystal in my tiny hands. br / "I was born a green dragon," I smiled, as she crossed her gaze to meet mine, "and although my circumstances have changed, nothing can change my loyalty to my flight. Take this, and be free from your agony." I slid from her face and onto the steel floor, approaching the claw on the right side of me. With a tingle like wind chimes, I rolled the crystal under her paw, to which she retracted her grasp around it. br / "I can feel the energy renew me," Valithria sighed. "Thank you, Deridovely. May the Lady bless you with life once more whence you leave this unholy prison."br / "I won't be leaving without you, I can assure you. I will bring people, great adventurers, to your aid. But all in good time, I must answer his call… for now." The great leviathan closed her eyes again to rest. I felt that her idea was a good one, and feeling the weakness in my bones crawled into my metal den and fell into a deep, comatose dream./p 


End file.
